Scream
by ashestoashesanddusttodust
Summary: A handler's job is to understand their asset. To know what they want and need. To make sure they get it to ensure they operate at peak efficiency. Clint x Pietro


**Scream  
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 **Notes:** AUish, no Avengers but the twins join SHIELD as assets. All the window dressing needed for what is smut.

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"Maximoff," Clint barks at the blur of gray when the helicopter lands. He points towards the rooms set aside for debriefing even though the blur that's Pietro is already gone.

No one questions it when Clint hands over his bow and quiver to Natasha and follows the man. Her own eyes are taking in every move Wanda makes as she disembarks at her own pace. Assessing what it is her asset needs most in these few critical seconds like all good handlers do. Like Clint had done even before the pair came in sight of his eyes.

Clint has to search the building for Pietro. It's a smallish place with only a few regular agents, but there's still way too many empty rooms to look into. The more empty rooms Clint finds the worse he ups the estimate of the damage on both of the twins minds. It has to be worse on Wanda, because she was the one who had stayed with the dying child. Probably mentally as well as physically, but Wanda isn't his asset to deal with. That's Nat's job. His job is Pietro who Clint finds in the room furthest away from any other living person on the base. The request in that act is clear and Clint makes sure to lock the door behind him.

Pietro wants -no, needs- to _scream_.

He doesn't need to lock the door to keep other Agents from crashing in. Every SHILED agent knows better than to get between a handler and their asset. Especially after a mission when the asset needs to be wound down. The click of the lock sliding home is for Pietro's benefit though.

He's already naked and laying on a desk that Clint's fairly sure wasn't originally in this room. One arm draped over his eyes though the tension that vibrates through his body shows he knows he's not alone. His uniform is folded neatly under the desk, one of the drawers open on the other side. His weapons will be in there within easy reach if Clint were to look.

Knives, because at the speed Pietro travels, anything with complicated moving pieces will tend to break faster than normal wear and tear can account for.

Clint doesn't look. He also doesn't say anything as he walks up to the desk and pulls the arm away. He looks down at Pietro's face. Into his eyes that are far away and haunted with more than just the trauma of this particular mission. Pietro gets even more tense and tries to pull his arm back. To hide again, but Clint doesn't let go. Only stands there and stares straight into his eyes. He knows what Pietro needs right now, but there's one very important thing Clint needs for himself before he starts.

" _Yes!_ " Pietro eventually hisses out. Angry and spitting his words out in his native tongue. One that Clint had learned a month after getting handed the brat out of sheer self-defense. " _Fuck me, hurt me. I don't fucking care! Just make it stop. Please, Clint._ "

He'd started off angry and pissed, but he's pleading by the last word. Begging with his body as much as his voice and Clint doesn't waste time teasing. He has permission and Pietro needs him.

He doesn't need pain. Not this time, but Clint gives him a little anyway when he leans down to kiss him. Pietro opens up for him immediately, teeth clashing deliberately against Clint's even as he sucks hungrily at his tongue. Hands desperate as they pull Clint down on top of him, and Clint's glad he brought more pants than he thought he'd need because these ones aren't going to be wearable again. Pietro's hands moving faster than the clothing was made to withstand. Ripping and tearing until he can get a hand around Clint's dick.

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[Edited to comply to site guidelines. See profile for link to unedited version.]

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Away from the memories of doomed children and the horrors of the world that will inevitable find him in sleep, but need to be distant right now. It'll last for a few minutes at the most, but Clint knows all too well how much of a blessing those few minutes can be.

It's his job as a handler to make sure his asset gets as many of those moments as he possibly can, and Clint only wishes there were more he could do for Pietro.

Pietro's hands are still curled over the edge of the desk. The muscles in his arms lax, but still following the orders Clint gave. Clint waits until he can see a sliver of blue from cracked eyes to lean forward and down. Slipping out a little to protesting sound from Pietro that turns into a pleased hum when Clint kisses his left arm. Lips brushing over the skin that's within easy reach. "Good?"

"Good," Pietro answers in English after several seconds. His voice wrecked and tired sounding. He doesn't move at all after pulling his arms back down at the silent permission. Draping them around Clint's back so that the fingers can press hard into him instead of the desk. Hard enough to keep Clint still for a while longer. Another request of what he needs right now.

To not be alone.

It's not much, maybe, but Clint's always relieved when he can give Pietro whatever it is he needs to help him. Staying isn't all that much of a hardship after all.

Later he'll ask the hard questions. Pull the story out of Pietro. Agonizing bit by agonizing bit until the man hates his guts and storms away. For now, though, Clint stays.

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End file.
